Sunday, December 5, 2010

You Don't Miss Your Water

I'm sitting alone with my father at the funeral parlor.Viewing hours have just begun, but it's midday workweek, and for a few hours it'll be just me and him, thefirst time I've laid eyes on him since the phone callwoke me up.

I'm doing what a son is supposed to do, or so I'vebeen told, but it's hard work, sitting with what usedto love and trouble you.

Of course, his body is a bright lie in its casket,everything that has brought him here carefullyhidden or rearranged.

Is there something I want to tell him? Anything Ican forgive?

I can only sit and wait and listen to the gospelmusic as it buzzes through the speakers. Jesus, Jesus,Jesus. All his time, all his struggles that I still call life.